


A Friendly Wager

by Sproings



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blow Jobs, Equal Parts Fluff and Kink I Guess, Feminization, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Humor, Intercrural Sex, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Praise Kink, if you consider skirts feminine, that's not kinky you're just in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-09-28 08:16:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17179250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sproings/pseuds/Sproings
Summary: "We could bet on it."Draco had only shrugged in response, but his silver eyes seemed to darken and his jaw seemed to tighten."Loser follows the winner's orders, an hour a day, for three days," Harry suggested beerily, holding up three fingers in case Draco needed help with counting.Draco hadn't needed help.  He nodded almost immediately and said, "You're on."Harry had known better than to bet against the Harpies. But something in that dark gaze left him unsettled, off-balance, a kite adrift on a strange wind.





	1. Chapter 1

Harry stared down at the parcel, which had his name helpfully written on the label, and wondered if his own impetuousness had finally ruined the friendship he'd been trying so long to build.

He couldn't blame the alcohol. He'd been drinking when they made the bet, but he hadn't been drunk. He never got drunk on Friday nights. On Fridays, he drank slowly, drawing out each pint as long as he could, while everyone else went for round after round. Everyone except Draco, who watched with good cheer and sipped an amber drink that was probably handcrafted in small batches from a recipe handed down for thirty generations.

The parcel was simple, flat and rectangular, wrapped in brown paper and tied up with string. Harry wasn't able to discern much else from the way it sat innocuously on an elegant table in Draco's sitting room, though the impeccably neat script was undoubtedly from Draco's hand.

It might be a stretch to call what they had a friendship, but he liked to think of it that way. Built up over the years, from crisp nods as they passed in the Ministry halls, to quiet hellos, to hesitant smiles, to shared laughter round a full table every Friday at the local pub, and even occasional conversations at work, where Harry made sure his cases ended up on Draco's desk a little more frequently than they otherwise would

Friendship. Or near enough to it. But even after all this time, it seemed like a fragile, delicate thing. Maybe too delicate to withstand an ill-advised quidditch bet.

Nevertheless, when Draco had told him that the Cannons didn't stand a chance, Harry had casually said, "We could bet on it."

Draco had only shrugged in response, but his silver eyes seemed to darken and his jaw seemed to tighten.

"Loser follows the winner's orders, an hour a day, for three days," Harry suggested beerily, holding up three fingers in case Draco needed help with counting.

Draco hadn't needed help. He nodded almost immediately and said, "You're on."

Harry had known better than to bet against the Harpies. But something in that dark gaze left him unsettled, off-balance, a kite adrift on a strange wind.

Shaking himself out of the memories, Harry took one more breath and tore open the wrapping paper.

A spill of luxurious fabric fell out across the marble tabletop. Sleek black and icy white. Harry couldn't resist sliding his fingertips over it as his mind spun in fits and starts.

The wizarding world never had caught on to Muggle clothing, but Draco was no ordinary wizard. He was a meticulous prosecutor, and a fine legal scholar. He would have done his research. He would know exactly what message he was sending.

He would know all the implications of a frilly maid's uniform. Not that any real maid would choose to work while wearing silk and lace. That wasn't what this was about. The stockings and garters made that much clear, with their bright green bows, the only spark of color in the entire ensemble.

Harry's fingers found a square of paper, startlingly harsh compared to the fabric, and drew it out. He unfolded it carefully, lest his trembling fingers crease or tear it and give him away.

It read simply, "You can still back out."

A message perfectly poised between offering mercy and issuing a challenge. How very Draco.

Harry tore off the rest of the paper and he changed his clothes.

He lifted his chin, hiding his nervousness, as he opened the only door available to him and walked through.

Draco was waiting there, lounging on a settee. His hair, usually pulled back into a severe plait, fell in loose, sun-bright waves around his shoulders, and instead of formal robes, he wore a dove grey shirt, unbuttoned at the neck, and dark grey trousers, while his feet were bare. 

Everything about him was enticing.

He had a copy of the Daily Prophet in his hands, though he didn't seem to be reading it. His eyes flicked over as soon as Harry entered, and his jaw tightened just the way it had the night they'd made the bet.

Maybe he'd been planning this ever since then. The idea sent an undeniable rush through Harry's gut, imagining the way it must have occupied Draco's thoughts, the way he must have been focused on Harry all that time, his whole attention belonging only to him. It made him want, and wanting made him brazen.

"Would you like to inspect my uniform, sir?" Harry asked, putting subtle emphasis on the last word, and receiving a brief lift of an eyebrow in return.

"Of course," Draco said. The bored, nearly contemptuous tone of his words left Harry twisting inside with a confused sort of arousal. He didn't know what he wanted from this, so he wasn't sure if this was it.

But when Draco neatly folded his paper, set it aside, and stalked toward him, Harry knew he wanted that. He wanted Draco's eyes on him. He wanted Draco's touch.

As if he could hear the thought, Draco reached for him, both hands coming up -- and settling on the bow tied crookedly at Harry's throat.

It was a sweet kind of agony, the tug of the cloth without the warmth of his skin, the awareness of Draco's fingers moving, so swift and clever, just out of his sight, the knowledge that he'd disappointed him by tying it unevenly to begin with. 

Once he'd gotten the bow properly re-tied, Draco ran his fingers along Harry's collar, smoothing it back into place. He then flattened his palms and slid them down Harry's chest, as if checking that the apron was aligned with the seams, but he gave himself away when he paused to drag his thumbs back and forth over Harry's taut nipples, an agony even sweeter than the last, making Harry blush and breathe deep.

"Good," Draco murmured, drawing his hands down further.

It was embarrassing how obvious Harry was. How easy. He held back a shiver from the feeling of Draco's hands at his waist, ready to tremble at the merest hint of an embrace. 

He hadn't dated in a long time. Dating Muggles felt too much like constantly lying, while in the magical world it seemed that everyone saw him as perpetually seventeen, young, tragic and noble. When he did go out, he usually spent most of his time bracing himself for words like 'hero', or 'savior', or, as on one memorable occasion, 'baby boy'. They didn't see him for himself, and he wasn't inclined to show them. 

Draco wasn't like that at all. He was guarded, and deeply private, but he never acted like Harry was carved from granite, to be placed up high and left cold and alone.

"Good," Draco murmured again, and this time Harry did shiver, only briefly, but enough to make Draco's hands go still, freezing in place where they'd been trailing down the ruffles at Harry's hips.

Oh Merlin, were they really doing this? Playing dress up, touching, trembling? Would there be kissing? Would he hold him close, breathe him in? 

"The fit isn't perfect, of course," Draco said. "If we make a more long term arrangement, I can have it tailored to suit you."

"Wasn't expecting it to be like a job interview," Harry said, to cover the thrill he felt over the idea of a 'long term arrangement'.

"No?" Draco pulled away completely, gaze sharpening.

Fighting down a weird sense of panic, Harry said, "Were you already finished with the inspection? Sir?"

Draco seemed understandably confused at that. He tilted his head, then looked Harry up and down. "Not quite. The, uh, shoes are a bit of an issue."

They were absurd, was what they were. Great clodding boots, completely at odds with the frilly uniform. He should have left them off, but he'd felt too vulnerable without them. "Yeah, sorry--"

"My fault entirely," Draco said. "I failed to warn you. But, if I may..?"

Harry nodded, not sure exactly what he was agreeing to.

Draco sank to his knees and gently lifted one foot. There was a warm buzz of magic, though he hadn't spoken or drawn his wand, and Harry's boot was transformed.

If there had been time to think about it, Harry might have expected something shiny, with an impossibly high heel. What Draco gave him was more like a slipper, soft and black with a tidy bow on top.

As Draco finished the other shoe, Harry found his voice. "Thank you. They're very comfortable. Should come in handy, if we make a more long term arrangement."

"You're quite welcome," Draco answered, one hand still lightly circling his ankle. He rubbed his thumb over the bone there, and Harry's mouth went dry. It was the closest he'd gotten yet to feeling Draco's skin against his own, only the sheer fabric of the stocking in between.

He wanted this so much. So much. And the sight of Draco on his knees was more than a little compelling. Harry's thoughts turned again to being held, being kissed, being touched, and his arousal burned ever brighter.

"Turn around," Draco said.

Harry turned.

Starting at the heels of the shoes he had made, Draco slowly, deliberately, slipped his hands up along the stockings, from ankles to calves to the tender skin at the backs of Harry's knees. 

Harry's skin felt hot and tight, far more flushed with heat than he thought it should be from something so tame, but at the same time, his hips wanted to twitch forward and thrust against the empty air in anticipation of what might lie ahead.

Draco's hands went higher, up Harry's thighs, daringly exposed by the short skirt, right up to the lace of the garters, before he stopped.

Harry only barely held back a wounded noise when Draco took his hands away.

"You've kept the seams very neat," Draco said, so close that Harry could swear he felt his breath under the edge of his skirt. "Well done."

Just as keen for his kind words as he was for his touch, Harry covered a satisfied gasp by saying, "Yes. Thank you, sir."

"Nearly finished now. Turn for me again."

Harry swallowed as he turned. He was mortified to be so eager, but he was well aware that his erection was proud of itself under all those ruffles.

Draco, still on his knees, still devilishly tempting, locked eyes with Harry. He started at his shoes again, the bastard, trailing his fingers feather light up to his ankles, up to his kneecaps, up to his garters. He flicked his thumbs back and forth over the bright green bows hiding there, back and forth, as if he was savoring the anticipation, and then, at last, he pushed up Harry's skirt.

He stared.

It was excruciating. He was utterly silent, his face neutral as he studied Harry's cock, which waved in the cool air, getting even harder from the undivided attention. There hadn't been any knickers included with the uniform, and Harry had felt bold at the time. 

Maybe he should have forgone the boots and kept his underwear instead.

Just before Harry passed out from holding his breath, Draco got to his feet.

His jaw was tight. Oh, thank Salazar. "My my, Potter. Seems we have a little problem."

Under any other circumstances, Harry might have laughed at the implied size joke, but Draco had circled around where he couldn't see. It seemed as if turning would break the rules of this game they were playing, so Harry kept still, and waited.

"What kind of maid would you be?" Draco said softly. He reached around and drew one finger right up the length of Harry's cock, which fairly quivered with joy in response. "You're positively obscene."

Forgetting any imagined rules, Harry looked over his shoulder, hoping to find some reassurance as to where this was heading. He wasn't interested in being hurt, and he knew what Draco could do with words.

Draco seemed surprised at the sudden eye contact. He went still, not even blinking, until he finally leaned in so close that Harry could feel the whisper of his breath against his ear as he said, "You're just too gorgeous."

Before Harry could so much as sigh in relief, Draco curled his fingers and stroked down his cock, making him bite back a moan.

He wrapped his other arm around Harry's chest and pulled him back so they were flush together. Holding him tight, trapping his arms in place, he pinched at Harry's nipple through the fabric of his dress, teasing it erect. "Imagine if my colleagues arrived and saw you. They could never get any work done, not with a distraction like this." He tugged at Harry's erection as if he was showing it off, and the feeling couldn't be more magnificent. "They'd all want to touch you. Taste you. Make you come. No, that wouldn't do at all. I'm nowhere near that generous."

"I do better one-on-one, anyway," Harry said. If he could reach, he would have kissed him, but all he could do was inhale the spicy scent of his hair.

Draco tugged Harry's cock again, setting up a slow rhythm, and murmured in his ear, "What am I going to do with this problem of yours?"

Harry tilted his hips back, and found the answering hardness he'd been hoping for, with only the fabric of Draco's trousers in the way. "Seems like you have a problem of your own," he said, rutting back against him. "Not such a small one, either. Maybe we can work them out together."

"Is that what you want?" 

When Harry nodded frantically, Draco whisked his hands away. After a brief flurry of movement, one hand reappeared at the inner curve of Harry's thigh and slid into the hollow there. Draco had found some kind of lubricant, Harry didn't know from where, Harry didn't care from where, he only cared that the blunt thickness of Draco's cock was sliding smoothly between his thighs now, and the hand that grasped at his own cock was equally, gloriously slippery.

"You want this?" Draco rasped, pulling Harry close again and thrusting between his thighs. "You want me to dirty you up? Make you filthy?"

"You're not filthy," Harry said, forgetting the game once again.

Draco pressed his forehead to Harry's shoulder for the space of two rough, uneven breaths. "Sloppy then," he said at last, and hitched his hips forward, finding a faster rhythm than before. "Sloppy and wet. You want that?" 

Harry nodded frantically again and gasped out, "Yes."

"Ruin this pretty dress of yours, leave you dripping," Draco said, nearly in a growl, jerking Harry's cock even faster now.

Harry worked his arm free and grasped at Draco's sleeve, off balance from locking his knees together, but also just needing to hold him, however he could.

Draco pulled him in more securely, which was nearly as thrilling as the pistoning of his hips, bringing Harry right to the edge of ecstasy, and he said breathlessly in Harry's ear, "Make you so messy that anyone would know. They'd see it. Smell it on you. They'd know I made you mine."

That was all it took. Soaring with pleasure, Harry moaned, "Yes. Yes, Draco…" His back arched as he came and came, bucking into Draco's slippery hand.

Panting through the aftermath of his orgasm, he turned, desperate to catch Draco in a kiss, but the sight of him, shockingly beautiful in his pleasure, stopped him short.

Draco's mouth was wide open in a silent shout, his eyes clenched tight, pale lashes shadowing paler skin. He was perfect like this, somehow more alive than Harry had ever seen him, and glorious with it, a rosy glow darkening his lips, softening his sharp cheekbones. With one more shuddering thrust, he made Harry just as sloppy as he had promised, the sticky mess of his release sliding wet down the pretty lace garters and dripping onto the stockings.

Harry keened as his cock twitched in a valiant effort to come for Draco again. He wanted more. He wanted to kiss him, hold him all night, tell him he adored him.

Oh Merlin, he was definitely going to say something entirely regrettable. He usually did, even after bad sex. The worst example was when he'd darted out of the room and called out over his shoulder, 'Thanks anyway,' but it wasn't the only example.

And this was Draco. Harry was no good at talking to Draco under normal circumstances. Anything he might say to him after really excellent sex was bound to be a mistake. 'It wasn't the dress that turned me on, it was all you.' 'I could do that every night and never get tired of you.' 'Marry me.'

Oh Merlin, he couldn't risk it.

Grabbing his wand from his pocket, Harry blurted out, "Great. See you tomorrow," and Apparated away.


	2. Chapter 2

It was always a mistake to expect Harry Potter to follow the rules, even when there weren't any.

Draco should have realized that from the beginning.

He pushed aside thoughts of finding a Time Turner and decided to approach this the same way he would any other crisis.

He made a list, starting with something positive.

_Orgasms - check and check._

The night seemed like less of a disaster already with that written down.

_Fancy dress - More information required._

Draco was very much in favor, but he wasn't sure how Harry had felt about the uniform. He had at least seemed to enjoy the moment when he sent Draco into cardiac arrest by being completely bare underneath the ruffles of his skirt.

His cock had turned a lovely plummy color as it filled out.

Draco had to take a moment to recover from the memory before he could continue writing.

_Being 'inspected' - Highly positive._

Harry had suggested it, twice. Very successful.

_Praise - Highly positive._

Harry responded beautifully, faintly quivering every time Draco said he'd done well.

_Mild humiliation - Highly negative, do not repeat._

That was a relief, actually. The bet itself had been Potter's idea. "Loser follows the winner's orders," he'd said, when only hours before he had announced to their assembled friends, "These days I only make wagers I'd be happy to lose."

The message had been very clear, and Draco didn't mind the thought of giving orders, but re-enacting his behaviour from their time at Hogwarts didn't hold much appeal.

Still, he'd thought maybe that was why Harry had chosen him, so he had tried.

Admittedly, he hadn't tried very hard. When he was faced with Harry looking vulnerable, he hadn't been able to go any further.

It was definitely for the best that Harry hadn't liked being called 'obscene'. He was too sweet for humiliation. Too damned adorable. He'd said, "You're not filthy," as Draco fondled him under the naughty maid outfit he'd made him wear. It was all Draco could do not to blurt out some horrible declaration of undying devotion.

_Apparating away - Highly negative._

_Kissing - No information._

_Sharing a bed - No information._

_Declarations of undying devotion - No information._

Salazar, he was a fool for Potter. He hadn't even taken the damned uniform off him, for fear it would shatter the moment. He burned with the thwarted desire to press naked against him and feel every delicious span of his skin.

That, at least, was something he could fix. All it took was better planning.

He had two more chances. Surely he could get Harry to stay.

 

* * *

 

Draco propped himself on the marble table in the vestibule and tried to appear as if he normally lounged around in empty rooms with absolutely nothing to do.

Luckily he didn't have to wait for long.

Potter came stumbling through the fireplace five minutes early. When he caught sight of Draco, he stopped in the middle of brushing ash out of his hair and breathlessly said, "Hi."

Draco hadn't been entirely confident in greeting Harry while wearing only a pair of loose pajama bottoms in deep purple linen. He'd only convinced himself to do so on the grounds that the less either of them wore, the easier it would be to get them both undressed, so Harry's reaction was very gratifying.

He considered reaching out one finger and tipping Harry's lovely gaping mouth closed, but the plan called for avoiding all potential distractions, so he pretended he didn't notice Harry's gaze trailing all over his bared skin, said, "Follow me," and led the way up the stairs and directly to his bedroom.

He'd made the bed in his lightest duvet, invitingly folded back to reveal the edge of his favorite sheets, and he trusted that even Harry wouldn't miss the hint.

Harry glanced around the room, but barely seemed to notice the bed. Instead, his eyes lingered on the ornate tub in the corner. "I'm giving you a bath?"

Harry's voice had practically squeaked as he asked the question, but the plan called for him to feed Draco strawberries by hand, in the bed.

"Yes, a bath," Draco said crisply. "You can start filling it, and then I'll dress you."

As soon as Harry's back was turned, Draco vanished the strawberries, tray and all.

The best plans always left room for improvisation.

The tub was a ridiculous thing, over-complicated and under-used, but Draco suddenly no longer regretted having bought it.

When Harry ran his hand over the tap, a tumble of creamy suds and water began to pour, selected by the tub itself based on Harry's desires. Already, Draco could pick out notes of cinnamon and leather in the air.

Well, that was rather intimidating to live up to. Ridiculous bathtub.

He cleared his throat and, when Harry turned, told him, "You don't need to watch it, a chime will sound when it's full."

Harry nodded, his adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. "Should I get undressed now?" He began stepping out of his slippers before Draco even finished saying, "Yes."

Draco circled around as Harry undressed, aiming for a predatorial air, but he misjudged the timing. Potter moved too fast, dragging his shirt off with half of the buttons still fastened, catching his glasses as they fell off, dropping his trousers, all seemingly in one fluid motion, pausing only to set his wand on the ledge of the tub.

Suddenly Harry was quite naked, and Draco hadn't finished his circuit yet.

Some of the best bits were on the side he couldn't see, but his only options would have been to dart around to Harry's front, which would ruin the dramatic effect, or miss out on the sight of Harry's cock and trust that he'd get a chance to see it later.

By that point, he'd already spent too long staring at the round swells of Harry's backside, and any illusion of cool detachment was fading fast.

The hope of a plummy cock would have to wait. Draco unfurled the skirt he'd set out earlier.

The word skirt was too generous, really. It was a rectangle of golden cloth, long enough to fall to Harry's calves, but not even wide enough to encircle his waist when Draco reached around to wrap it in place. It left a wide strip of Harry's right hip and thigh uncovered, the gap held together by a set of three delicate golden chains and a bit of subtle charmwork.

"Turn around, let's have a look at you," Draco said, smoothing his palm just between the dimples at the base of Harry's back.

Harry turned, and Draco made a show of investigating. He fussed a bit with the set of the skirt, taking the opportunity to run his fingers over the sharp cut of muscles low on Harry's abdomen, enjoying the way they tensed under his touch, before stepping back and tapping his chin, feigning contemplation.

Potter had never been one to rest on his laurels, and his physique showed how much effort he had put into keeping up with his Auror training. Draco knew for a fact that Harry didn't rely on levitation when he needed to carry an injured colleague to safety. He had read all of the filings on that particular case. Several times. For work purposes.

When he felt he'd paused long enough to give Harry's arms and chest the attention they so richly deserved, Draco carried on with the plan.

He drew his wand slowly, muttered the incantation he'd been practicing all day, and traced looping patterns in the air.

He spun three long, fine chains of gold around Harry's neck, three more around each of his wrists, and one slightly heavier one around his right ankle, before he set his wand on the ledge of the tub.

"Why all this?" Harry asked, brushing his fingers over one of the necklaces.

"Because the finest jewels should be set in gold, or nothing at all."

Harry's skin flushed. His dark nipples pebbled as if he'd been caressed. His mouth fell open.

So lovely.

This time, Draco did reach out and tip it closed. He rubbed his thumb across Harry's lips, watching them plump and redden invitingly, as if Draco could just lean in and take them.

But the events of last night had proven that Harry could be as nervous as a newborn niffler, so Draco decided not to push for the kiss.

Instead, he reached for Harry's wrists and tugged them up, high over his head.

Harry gave no resistance at all.

He was totally open to Draco's touch, to the pleasures they could share, brave or foolish enough to make himself vulnerable like this, keeping the position Draco had chosen for him.

Draco trailed his fingers down, over Harry's bracelets, along his elbows, through the soft hairs under his arms. Helpless, he ran his nose through those same soft hairs, took in the musky, hidden scent there, licked at the sweat he found.

Even then, Harry shivered, but he stayed just how he'd been arranged, his wrists twined above him, his chest pulled narrow and tight.

"Do you know how exquisite you are?" Draco said softly, drawing his fingers lower, tracing Harry's ribs, the firm muscles of his stomach, the dip of his navel.

"Ah...I don't think anyone's used that word before, no," Harry answered, his voice low and breathless.

"Exquisite," Draco said again, sighing the word, caressing it over Harry's jaw. "Delectable. You should be savored. Cherished."

Rather than point out who, exactly, should be doing the cherishing, he set out to show him.

Holding Harry's hips for balance, he sank slowly to his knees and sat back on his heels to look at the treasure in front him.

Golden fabric clung tight to every curve and ridge of Harry's cock, exposing him in liquid light, already hard, growing steadily harder under Draco's gaze.

Harry wanted this, Draco was sure of it, he wanted Draco's hands and his mouth and his _attention._ He wanted a place in Draco's _thoughts,_ and he would have one, a permanent one. Draco would give it gladly, already had done, couldn't stop if he tried. If Harry hadn't known before, he must surely know it now.

Draco had resisted temptation long enough. He bent in, nosed at the crease of Harry's hip, and inhaled the scent there, damp and sweet. If he could, he would taste the hollow of his knee. Suckle at his fingers. Lick between his toes. He would take in all of Harry's secret, tender spaces, if only he could.

He nuzzled under the gap of the skirt, to find the edge of dark, delicious curls, and he couldn't help looking up again.

Harry's eyes were wide, locked on Draco, and even still, he kept his wrists in place, corded with tension as he willingly held the position. He wanted this. He did. He trembled with it when Draco brushed the tip of his tongue over the skin at the inside of his thigh, and he nearly bucked forward when Draco licked a wide, wet stripe just under the edge of the skirt. Whatever tomorrow held, today Draco was allowed to have this, to know that Harry--

A chime echoed loudly through the room, making Harry startle, breaking the moment apart.

Horrible bathtub. Draco wished he'd never bought it.

He got to his feet and eased Harry's arms down, which Harry somehow took as his cue to wrap Draco up entirely, clinging to his waist and breathing heavily against his neck.

It was rather a lovely feeling, except for the problem of the bath.

"The water's ready," Draco said, not nearly as commanding as he felt he should have been, but Harry took a step toward the tub, with Draco still in his arms, so perhaps he'd done better than he thought.

"Harry. We still have on clothes."

"Oh. Well. Only barely," Harry said with a self-deprecating smile.

Draco chuckled. It wasn't in keeping with the role he was meant to be playing, but Harry laughed a bit too, suddenly seeming much more like himself. As if neither of them were playing a role at all.

Harry leaned in and pressed his mouth against Draco's.

The kiss was exactly the way Draco had pictured it, but then he had pictured it a thousand different ways.

It was syrupy slow, and Harry's lips were still turned up with the remnants of laughter. Draco cupped Harry's jaw in his hands, just to confirm that the moment was real, that he hadn't somehow fallen into a Pensieve made of fantasies.

Harry slipped his hands higher, to the center of Draco's back, and made a quiet little noise, almost like longing, just as his lips parted and allowed Draco to dip his tongue inside.

Heavenly. It was heavenly. Draco would happily have carried on kissing Harry forever, except…

As expected, the damned bathtub chimed again.

"Is there a way to make that stop?" Harry asked.

In his annoyance, Draco stepped back with a huff, shoved off his trousers, and climbed into the tub, all in one go. It was either that or vanish the blasted thing, which certainly wouldn't make him seem any more in control of the situation.

Harry glanced around, looking abandoned and unsure what to do next.

Fucking tub. Too late to vanish it now. Draco had to find a way to recover.

He lowered himself as elegantly as he could and sat amongst the bubbles. His wand was nearby, so he picked it up, and was struck by inspiration.

With a delicate wave of his wand, he dispelled the chains that held Harry's skirt together, slowly, link by link, until the fabric finally fell away.

He tilted his head, as if in contemplation, and let his gaze roam openly over Harry's nude form. It wasn't at all difficult to let his face show that he was looking at the most gorgeous thing he'd ever seen.

It seemed successful. Harry squirmed shyly under Draco's regard, and his cock _twitched._

The more he learned of Harry's desires, the better they seemed to align with his own. He'd already known they suited each other well in most other aspects, but now...Now Draco was struck with visions of parading Harry through the conservatory, adorned in nothing but gossamer ribbons. He'd display him on a pile of cushions there, where they'd both feel totally exposed, despite how private the space truly was, and there, in front of those great glass walls, Draco would devour him, claim him for his own, make it inescapably clear how much he wanted him, how proud he was to have him.

But hopes for the future shouldn't be allowed to block the path to it, and this was an especially delightful path.

"As much as I'm enjoying this display," Draco said, curling his fingers to beckon Harry to him, "I believe you have a job to do."

Harry stepped down into the tub and knelt primly in the space between Draco's spread thighs, as if he'd been waiting to be told.

Having never been given a bath before, Draco didn't know what to expect. Slippery groping of chests and cocks, he supposed. So, when Harry began running his hands up and down Draco's forearms, Draco reached out and brushed his knuckles along the the front of Harry's erection.

Clearly surprised, Harry froze with both hands cupped around Draco's elbows.

"You're doing quite well," Draco said, to cover his fumbling, "don't stop on my account."

Harry ducked his head and went back to his gentle washing, running his hands in a smooth glide up to Draco's shoulders, only now he had a bit of a smirk on his face.

He looked positively smug, and that wouldn't do at all.

Draco wrapped his fingers around Harry's prick and gave a tight, heavy stroke, then another, and another, aided by the bubbles, which made everything nearly frictionless.

There. Harry didn't look smug now, with his lips parted on a ragged sigh.

"Exquisite," Draco repeated, his voice hushed.

Their eyes met, and everything went still.

It was like drowning in an emerald sea. Draco couldn't match Harry's pure earnestness, no one could, but he tried to let the depths of his feelings show, tried to expose the tenderness he protected so desperately, the vulnerability that he'd learned to hide so early. Tried, impossibly, to let Harry know that he was welcome to share his home, his heart, his soul. That he could happily be a steady, loving presence at Harry's side, for as long as Harry wanted.

Even as the moment threatened to overwhelm him, he tried, and it was Harry who looked away first, to drop a hand on Draco's thigh. Draco gave one last heavy tug to Harry's prick, and reached instead for his chest, thumbing sharply over his nipples, already hard and tight for him.

Harry bent closer, into the touch, propping himself on one arm so he could line up their hips, swept his hand in, and then…

Oh, and then.

Draco wished he could see it. Their cocks pressed tight together, Harry's fingers wrapped around them both, sliding down, squeezing lightly, sliding up again. It must have looked almost as good as it felt.

It must have looked _spectacular._

Still circling hard with his thumbs, Draco arched up and pressed his tongue against Harry's adam's apple, where he savored the rasp of stubble, the bitter sweat, the warm vibrations of Harry's moan.

The sound alone could undo him. A deep, keening groan, thick with pleasure, unmistakably Harry's voice, spurring Draco to lick again, more firmly this time.

 _"Draco,"_ Harry moaned. He moved his hand faster, then faster again, rocking his hips so their pricks slipped against each other in a sloppy counter-rhythm.

The pace was ecstatic, frenzied, perfect. Like flying. Like dueling. Like Harry.

Draco wanted desperately to fall into it. There was only one thing, one thing he wanted more, one reason to make this last. He needed Harry, needed him to see, needed him to stay, needed--

"Slow down, my sweet one," Draco gasped, nearly too late. "We have time. We have time."

Harry did slow down, thoughtfully giving Draco the chance to contemplate the phrase 'my sweet one', and to wonder what Harry's wide-eyed stare might mean.

Then Harry kissed him, artless and open, panting into Draco's mouth, sliding his hand slow and tight, so they could both feel every glide of skin-on-skin, every puff of breath they shared, every rush of blood through their veins.

Draco wasn't going to last long at all, not like this, but it seemed he wasn't capable of stopping again. And maybe...maybe stopping wasn't necessary. He clutched at Harry's arms, which hardly yielded at all, the muscles bunching and flexing tight beneath his fingertips, and rocked up into Harry's grip, into his inexorable rhythm, until Harry arched sharply and moaned, sending a burst of warmth over Draco's stomach, swept away all too soon by the bathwater.

But even after he came, Harry kept going, stroking and shuddering, his mouth slack, eyes squeezed tight. Even though the intensity of it must have bordered on being painful, Harry simply carried on, his spent cock pulsing endlessly against Draco's in the most generously erotic gesture Draco had ever experienced. It was beautiful. So beautiful. If Draco was capable of speech he would have told him so.

"Draco," Harry groaned, his voice ragged, _"Please."_

Draco's vision whited out, lost in a wave of desperate pleasure, pure carnal joy, his hips twitching up of their own accord to press his cock fully into the heat of Harry's hand, with Harry's barely softening cock still pressed tight against it.

As he recovered himself, Draco rubbed at Harry's arms, smoothing away the divots he was sure he'd left in his skin, and planned how to invite Harry into his bed.

Harry dropped his head against Draco's shoulder. "Tell me again," he said, his breath hot on Draco's neck. "Tell me I'm yours, tell me you--"

He jerked back, his eyes huge with worry.

"Harry?"

"Oh Merlin." Harry snatched up his wand and lurched to his feet, too fast for Draco to catch him. "Tomorrow. I'll see you tomorrow," he blurted out, and he turned on the spot, Apparating away.

There was a faint splash as water filled the empty space he'd left behind.

"You forgot your clothes," Draco shouted at the empty air. "AGAIN."

But as he got out of the tub, dried himself, and spelled a thick pile of blankets onto his bed, the wave of despair he expected to sweep over him simply...didn't. Instead, Draco's mind was a jumble of sweet, guileless kisses, and wide-eyed gazes, and the words, _"Tell me again, tell me I'm yours."_

He slid under the covers, and reached for his wand, with the first swells of real hope building in his chest. He'd almost made it this time, and he still had one more chance. _"Tomorrow,"_ Harry had said, _"I'll see you tomorrow."_

Draco smiled, settled under the covers, and Banished the tub to the basement.


	3. Chapter 3

This time, Harry was determined to talk things through.

Nevermind that he'd planned the same thing yesterday, before the sight of Draco wearing only a low slung pair of pajama bottoms had made him decide that talking was totally overrated, a decision which had lasted right up until he was hit with the post-orgasmic, best-shag-of-my-life, please-love-me-forever haze.

Forever wasn't the kind of word you should drop on someone when you were both naked. Harry knew that much, even if he did occasionally wonder whether he had missed some formative experience that taught everyone else how to talk to each other, while he'd been locked in his cupboard. Or if having a chunk of the Dark Lord's soul nestled in his brain had left him irreparably awkward. Or if he had somehow created this particular flaw all on his own, which was only a little bit reassuring.

But he hadn't gotten an owl telling him not to bother showing up, and he figured that if Draco wanted to hex him in person then he probably deserved the chance, so he stepped through the fireplace just as the clock chimed, same as he'd done the previous two days, only this time...

He was ducking his head, so the first thing Harry noticed was the long, pale sweep of Draco's bare legs, lithe and strong as any dancer's, lightly dusted with honey-gold hair that Harry wanted to _taste._ Around his waist was a bright green scarf, made of silk or whatever was finer than silk, which barely fell low enough to cover the most delicate bits of him, and above that was only Draco, the graceful curve of his ribs, the faint blush spreading down between his rosy nipples, the delighted little smirk of his lips.

Talking was overrated.

Harry stepped forward, all other thoughts forgotten in the pursuit of Draco's touch.

Draco reached out for him, traced a path down his t-shirt and said low against his ear, "Potter. You're overdressed."

With no more prompting than that, Harry stripped off his clothes. He did it quickly, because it was one of the few things he totally understood about what they'd been doing, and the sooner he got through it, the sooner he'd get to the parts he didn't understand. The parts he found so thrilling, so fulfilling, and so confusing.

Leaving everything in a hasty pile on the floor, he looked up at Draco, who leaned back and just...appraised him. Thoroughly.

Harry fought the urge to fidget as Draco's gaze lingered over his bare chest.

"Ready then?" Draco said, with a dangerous glint in his eye.

"Erm, was there something I should wear?"

Draco smiled, which didn't make him look any less predatory, and untied the ribbon holding his ponytail. With a deft little flourish, he knotted it around Harry's arm.

Harry blinked at the dark green velvet flowing down to his elbow. It looked for all the world as if Draco had bestowed a token of his favor.

"Unless you'd rather wear it somewhere else?" Draco said, his voice low and dark. "Here?" He ducked in and brushed his lips over Harry's throat. "Or perhaps here?" He dragged his fingers over Harry's cock. 

Harry was embarrassingly thrilled by either option, as Draco could no doubt tell by his reaction to the continued stroking, but the notion of Draco choosing him as his champion was too delightful for him turn down. Finally he said, in a rough whisper, "Whatever you want."

"Mmm, those were the terms, weren't they. Come along, then." He started for the door without even a backward glance.

Harry trailed after him as if tied to a string, and tension melted out of his shoulders with each step. Everything about Draco, his bright hair, the pale sweep of his back, the soft sound of his bare feet on the marble, everything beckoned Harry forward, and for once he didn't need to think about anything, except maybe to wish that he had a better view of the front of that green scarf.

His wish was fulfilled a hundred times over when Draco led him into the Hall.

Reflections gleamed at them from all around, from countless gilt-framed mirrors, and from every one, Draco seemed to be looking right at Harry. That was impossible. Draco couldn't be staring ravenously at him on the left while also gazing adoringly at him from the right, but it was happening nonetheless.

It had to be magic. The kind of subtle, intricate magic that Draco did so well.

Each reflection was different, this one brazen, that one blushing prettily, but not one of them looked at Harry quite the way the real Draco had last night. Not one of the copies could bring him back that feeling, as if something dark inside of him had finally broken and lifted away. 

Maybe he _should_ ask Draco to marry him. Nobody else made him feel as if he was safe, truly safe, even from himself.

He slowed in front of a reflection didn't quite understand. The Draco there seemed almost angry, with flashing eyes and tight lips, but whenever he glanced at Harry, he seemed to soften, to brighten somehow.

His Draco, the real Draco, circled around as Harry watched the mirror. He slipped his arms around Harry's chest, as did his reflection, and purred in Harry's ear, "I told you, I'm not generous." He slid his hand down, framing Harry's flushed cock with his pale fingers, putting him on display, making him want to squirm, making him want to beg for more. "The sight of you like this is not something I intend to share with anyone. Not even the portraits."

Ah, the portraits. Harry could just hear them now, their two-dimensional voices murmuring from behind Draco's mirrors, intensifying the feeling of being dangerously exposed, and he held back a moan.

"So lovely like this," Draco whispered, staring at him in the mirror. "Only for me." He pressed his palm against the head of Harry's cock, perfectly, punishingly hard, and Harry did moan, and arched back into silk covered hardness.

It made sense then. _Possessive._ That's what this reflection was. That's what the real Draco was. The Draco who dressed him in gold, or nothing at all, and looked at him with open fondness, and kissed him like he meant forever.

Harry moved his hips in helpless little circles, between the pleasure of Draco's hand and Draco's cock, all too eager to be possessed.

"I could make you come like this," Draco said in a rough whisper, "I would watch it happen, watch you fall apart for me, hear your release spatter on the tiles, and then lick you clean. I could do all of that and more." He pulled his hand away and stepped back. "But there's somewhere else I want you to be."

The world seemed to swoop away under Harry's feet, leaving him reeling at the loss.

"This way, Potter." His voice was brisk, professional, but he placed a gentle hand on Harry's arm, and his eyes held nearly as much affection as the adoring Draco from the mirror.

He led Harry quickly along the corridor and up the stairs, to the same bedroom they'd gone to yesterday. Harry assumed, hoped, that it was Draco's own room, and the curling, sneering dragon carved into the headboard seemed to support that hope.

Draco gestured at the bed, so Harry climbed into it, flopping onto cool crisp linens that seemed made just for the slick press of overheated bodies.

"Look at you," Draco husked, kneeling beside him on the mattress. "Wearing my ribbon. Lying in my bed." He pushed Harry's hands up to grip the headboard, making it clear that he expected them to stay there.

"Er, it's a nice bed," Harry said, in a shining example of why talking was a terrible idea. "And a nice ribbon."

"Of course." Draco ran his fingers over the velvet ribbon, and down Harry's chest. "I take excellent care of what's mine."

Swept up in the implications of that, Harry couldn't find words for a response, and the only way he could prevent himself from nervously biting his lip was to tilt his head back, which quickly led to arching his spine, tilting his hips up as if in invitation.

Draco breathed a soft laugh. "So delightfully eager."

He shifted, over and back, until he was poised over Harry, his hair sliding sinuously over Harry's thigh, where he brushed a delicate kiss, over his cock, which he cruelly ignored, over his stomach, where he licked wetly. With light hands he touched the oddest of places, the curve of a knee cap, the swell of a hip, the hollow of his navel. Draco lingered over each one, long fingers probing, questing, caressing. "There is no part of you that I haven't desired," he murmured, before grazing his teeth over Harry's ribs.

"Yeah?" Harry said, feeling foolish even as the word escaped him. He'd been told things like that before, of course, but only with words like 'chosen one' or 'golden hero' attached. Only from people who were virtually strangers. Draco _knew_ Harry, knew all the worst parts of him. Even if this was only play-acting -- and with each touch Harry felt less and less like it was -- those words meant something.

Draco didn't answer. He bent and let his hair fall over his face, not even meeting Harry's eyes, his intent made clear only by the brush of his lips against the crown of Harry's erection.

"Wait, I…"

Slick heat enveloped Harry's cock, driving away all thought, but then Draco went still, his mouth lush and warm and utterly distracting. 

It took a long moment of trembling anticipation before Harry realized he needed to finish his sentence in order for anything more to happen. "I...your hair, I can't see you, I --"

Sweeping aside the flaxen tumble of his hair, Draco locked his eyes on Harry's, without moving his mouth in the slightest.

"You're absolutely gorgeous," Harry breathed, having lost the thread of whatever he meant to say.

It was impossible for lips that were wrapped around a cock to form a smirk. At least, Harry assumed that was why, with a long slow drag, Draco pulled off and leveled Harry with a twinkling look and wicked quirk of his mouth before he went back to the work of plunging Harry into searing ecstasy.

He kept one hand around the base of Harry's cock, a cautious measure, exactly what Harry would have expected of him. His other hand, though, continued questing, along Harry's waist, up his side, through the hairs under his arm. Yesterday he had licked him there, a gesture so startlingly intimate that even the memory had Harry gasping, fingertips digging into the undulations of the headboard, as the pleasure of the past coupled gloriously with the present.

He used to think of himself as someone with stamina, real staying power, before Draco. Now, under a talented tongue and silvery eyes, he was teetering at the edge of orgasm faster than he would have believed possible.

"Draco, you're too...ahhh...I'm not gonna last."

Draco tightened his hand around Harry's shaft, squeezing rhythmically as he drew his mouth away. "I know," he said, his voice rough edged and smoky. "It's what I want."

Harry shuddered as Draco licked a heavy stripe over the head of his cock.

"Give me what I want, Harry." 

With Draco swallowing around him, Harry did. He gave everything he had and more, grinding his hips back as he came and came.

He wanted to ask Draco not to stop, beg him, never stop, but it seemed he didn't need to ask. Draco went on and on, licking and sucking, until Harry felt as if his only connection to Earth was the weight of Draco's ribs, expanding and contracting against his thighs with every breath.

A rattling noise reminded him of another connection. Wood clattering against stone. The headboard, knocking against the wall with every wonderous tremor of Harry's hands and arms and back. 

"Please, please, please…" his own voice sighed.

For a terrible moment, Draco's weight was lost to him, but soon it was replaced by something even better- light fingertips brushing a wisp of hair from his forehead, and warm grey eyes looking into his own.

"What is it, Harry? What do you want?"

Without pausing to think, Harry wrapped his arms around Draco's waist and pulled him closer, pulled him close enough to press his cheek into the soft skin of his belly, where there was no sharpness, no armour, nothing between them. He whispered Draco's name there, lips brushing against him, turning into a kiss, into a fluttering series of kisses.

It wasn't until he wrapped his hand around Draco's cock, so hard it was dripping, that he thought to wonder if he should have asked for permission to let go of the headboard. But Draco only gasped and fucked into his hand, fingertips digging into Harry's scalp, so it must have been all right.

"Harry, I'm…"

"Yes. Do it here. On me," Harry said greedily, jacking harder at the wrecked sound of Draco's voice. "Make me sticky with it. So everyone can smell it on my skin. So everyone, everyone will know how much I love you."

Draco moaned and quivered against him, making everything feel so right.

"I love you, Draco, I love you," Harry said, as Draco's body curled around him, cock jerking and spilling over his chest.

A sense of calm swept over Harry, as it so often did when he'd committed himself to something dangerous and irrevocable. He'd known for days that he wanted to tell Draco about his feelings, even if this wasn't the way he'd meant to go about it, and it was a relief not to worry about it anymore. He wiped a hand across his chest, more rubbing the mess in than wiping it away, because he really did mean to smell it later.

Draco eased them both down, rolling to pillow Harry's head on his chest. He drew his finger over the swirls of Harry's ear and down along the nape of his neck. He explored the bumps of Harry's spine. The curve of his neck. The ridge of his clavicle.

He didn't say anything.

Draco, whose words had made hardened criminals weep on the stand, who had charmed belligerent witnesses and antagonized charming ones, suddenly had nothing to say.

Clearly things hadn't gone as well as Harry had hoped.

"So, erm..."

"It's quite alright," Draco said quickly, and the neutrality of his voice made Harry's chest ache.

"Oh?"

"Of course." His face was neutral too, when Harry sat up to see it. The same mask he used in court. When Harry had asked about it, ages ago, Draco had said, _'Never let them see the heart of you, Potter. Mother taught me that.'_ He had smiled then, a delicate smile aimed just at Harry, the first of what turned out to be many. 

But he wasn't smiling now, as he sat up and leaned against the headboard. The wooden dragon there held more expression than he did as he spoke. "You needn't worry, it's perfectly understandable. Nobody means everything they say when they're--"

"I do."

"You…Pardon?" Draco said, ever so politely, mask still firmly in place.

"I do. I mean it."

"But you said..."

"I said I love you."

Draco looked away, to an empty space in the corner. "You did." 

"I can stop saying it if it makes you uncomfortable."

"It…" He waved meaningfully at the corner. "You kept leaving."

Harry turned to the space, and finally realized that it used to hold a bathtub. The same bathtub that he'd Apparated out of last night. "Shit. I'm sorry about that, it was an asshole thing to do. I just...I'm rubbish at this, and I didn't want to mess things up. I'm so sor--"

"We've forgiven each other much worse things," Draco said softly. The hope in his eyes made it clear how much courage it had taken for him to say that.

If Harry hadn't already been in love with him, he would have fallen then, affection rising up through his chest like a wave. "We have."

With one of his delicate smiles, Draco caught Harry's wrist and pulled him close. He brushed a kiss over the corner of his mouth, making Harry's cheeks heat as if they hadn't just had sex, and weren't still naked in bed together.

"I can't believe you said it first though," Draco mumbled against Harry's lips.

Harry leaned back to smirk at him. "Said what?"

Draco narrowed his eyes. "I haven't even taken you on a proper date yet."

"Tonight was very proper. I wore a tie." Harry waggled the ribbon on his arm at Draco.

Hiding a smile, Draco said, "In the interest of being proper then, I feel I must tell you...I am very fond of you."

Harry grinned.

"In fact, if I may be so bold, I should say that I find your company quite pleasing."

"Goodness Mister Malfoy, how very forward of you," Harry said, too delighted to put on the act as well as Draco could, but doing his best anyway.

"My deepest apologies if I have given offense," Draco said. When Harry shook his head, Draco took his hand and solemnly kissed the back of it. "In that case, you should know, my dearest Mister Potter, that I...I find you to have a very lovely cock."

Harry laughed, absolutely content for the first time he could remember.

"But I loved you long before I knew that." Draco's cheeks pinked beautifully, his expression suddenly tender. "And I will go on loving you 'til the end of our days."

He'd thought he didn't need to hear the words, but he'd been wrong. A joy even more pure than catching the snitch rose up through him at hearing them. "Draco."

Draco kissed him, so hard that they both toppled over onto the pillows. He grazed his teeth firmly against Harry's bottom lip, a perfect counterpoint to the plush sweetness of the kisses.

"So," Harry gasped against Draco's lips, "about that long term arrangement…"

Draco drew back and glared at him. "Potter, I will hex you if you propose marriage before I do."

Harry had only been planning to ask to stay the night, but he grinned. "Could be worth it."

"I assure you, it will not. I have plans. There will be moonlight, and flowers, and poetry," he said, jabbing a finger into Harry's chest as punctuation. "I've made lists."

"You have?"

"I make lists about everything," Draco said, a bit defensively.

"Of course you do," Harry said, more charmed than he could ever say.

Draco swallowed and smoothed his hand over the spot he'd jabbed. "Never expected to use that one, though. I was only hoping to get you to spend the night."

"I'll stay for as many as you like."

With a contented sigh, Draco tugged Harry down where he'd been before, his head pillowed on Draco's chest.

As he reveled in the feeling of Draco's fingertips brushing down his spine, Harry had a thought. "Hey Draco."

"Yes?"

"What happened to the bathtub?"

"Go to sleep, Harry."

Harry chuckled, then did as he was told.


End file.
